A Thousand Pieces
by Sou7h
Summary: oneshot He waited for this day for an entire year, the day he escaped from prison and returned to her again...


It was early morning in Bowestone South; the shops were not yet open and the children were still having breakfast. A few drunkards were stumbling home to scathing remarks from their wives. Even now, the town was noisy with the sounds of people getting up and ready for another busy day and the hero wondered if it ever truly slept.

The hero himself was wide awake and had been for quite some time. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a finely-tailored shirt and fresh-pressed pants. It felt strange to not be wearing his customary bright plate armour. In his hand he held a single red rose.

It was only a short walk to the house he was looking for, the same house he had longed for during the day and dreamed of during the night. A year since he last was in this house and a year he spent away from the woman who lived here.

With a boot on the doorstep, he rehearsed his lines once more, like a nervous actor just before his performance. Had she changed? How much? Did she think he was dead like all the others? What if she didn't even live in this house anymore? He imagined the door opening to a confused stranger's face and having to apologize and walk away, disappointed and embarrassed.

While he wrestled with his doubt, the door opened.

She was so beautiful. Her auburn hair was tousled and a different length, but it still framed her eyes in the same way he remembered. It was a memory that had pulled him back from the brink of despair in his mind. He longed to trace the smooth curve of her lips with his finger.

"Maya. It's been a while."

She looked like a goddess standing in the doorway. A shocked, incredulous goddess. "Jon! Where have you been? I thought..."

"Jack had me imprisoned for the last year."

Her eyes ran over the scar on his face. "Jack of Blades? What did he do to you in there? Thank Avo you're still alive!"

"I'm alright now." He held out the rose and she took it hesitantly. He recalled the first time they met. She was a barmaid and he had saved her from a man who was too drunk to know that he was too drunk. And now she had saved him.

"Jon, why are you here?"

He smiled. What a silly question. He reached for her cheek but she flinched as though afraid he would burn her.

His smile evaporated. It was then that he realized her odd pose, as though wanting to block the doorway. Before he could ask, someone else inside the house took the question right off his lips.

"What's going on?"

A man appeared at Maya's shoulder. Both his hair and eyes were dark and a thin black beard covered his chin. He met his gaze briefly before returning to hers. A new emotion flickered in her eyes: guilt.

"Who's this?" He asked stiffly.

"Jon, this is Kiefer. Kiefer, this is Jon. He's more well-known as Gladiator."

The male villager's eyes lit up. "Hey, you're the one from the Arena, right?"

"Um, Kiefer, maybe you should go back in the house."

"No, I'm fine."

Other townspeople were starting to appear, interested in what the legendary hero was doing with a barmaid. They stared. Jon didn't know if he was turning red in chagrin or in anger.

"Kiefer –"

"Is he your lover?" The words should have been hard for Gladiator to force from his lips, but they all came in one burst.

"Well, I –"

"I see." The hero spun on his heels and walked away, his joints wooden and his heart made of lead. The weight felt crushing inside his chest and he wished he could rip it out so it wouldn't be a part of him. Rip it out so he wouldn't hurt anymore.

"Jon, I'm sorry! I thought you were dead. Wait, Jon!" Her voice broke on the last word.

He turned and was pleased that she was chasing after him. But she hadn't gone more than several steps before _he_ stopped her and she cried into _his_ chest. She still chose _him_, still went back to _him_. Jon's blood boiled.

"Get your hands off her!" The spellwarrior drew on the Will almost unconsciously and sped to her side. Driven by anger borne of grief, he pulled the man away and punched him again and again... His victim squirmed pathetically, but was no match for such animal strength.

"Jon, stop it! Stop it!"

Maya's hands finally pushed him away. A moment ago, he would have given anything for their caress, but now he could not even bear for them to touch him. She crouched by her lover. Blood flowed freely from the villager's broken nose.

"I spent every moment of a year thinking about you!" The hero screamed. His entire body shook with the weight of his words, the words he had rehearsed for so long but hadn't foreseen speaking them this way. "When I starved, I lived on thoughts of you. When I was weak, you kept me strong. My mind nearly broke in that cell, but I lived – I had to, if only to see you just once before I died. You were all I lived for!"

The anger in her eyes dimmed to pity and he hated it.

"Don't look at me like that! I hate you!

"And what are you all looking at?" He spun around, taking in all the townsfolk that were now hastily withdrawing. The story of how Albion's most virtuous and best-loved hero was rejected by a barmaid and then completely lost his mind. This would be enough gossip to last them a month, but he didn't care. He must look quite insane to them for not even the guards to approach. Jon laughed one at the absurdity of it all.

It was only a short walk to the marital home he had bought this morning. The house was fully furnished, waiting like he thought she would be. Just an hour ago, he had been inside making sure everything was perfect, sprinkling rose petals on the floor. Presently, he followed the trail of red and pink up the stairs to the bed. He sat on its edge.

Taking a little box from his pocket, he stroked it thoughtfully.

This was the second time in his life his whole world was ripped apart. Life should be fairer to him, he thought. Why should he be left with nothing while so many others received such blessings? They were ignorant and ungrateful, all of them. He hated them, but could not help but envy what they had.

The velvet box was stiff; it was new, just like its contents. The delicate ring was a golden band embedded with amethyst and diamonds. The Hero had wanted the best, no matter the exorbitant price. There was no price on love. But as it turned out, there was a one year warranty.

The precious gems sparkled and winked at him, mocking.

He admired it a moment before throwing it at the wall, where it shattered in a thousand pieces.


End file.
